


Recruitment Under False Premises

by mylordshesacactus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Slice of Life, Tracer's being a dick about her workout regimen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 17:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6574792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylordshesacactus/pseuds/mylordshesacactus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winston’s whole getting-the-band-back-together shtick hadn’t mentioned putting her through rookie training again. It wasn’t like she’d been sitting on her arse this whole time, was it? She’d—there’d been—action! Physical exercise! Couple of shootouts on the roof!</p><p>Honestly, this is totally unnecessary, please let her go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recruitment Under False Premises

**Author's Note:**

> I DON'T HAVE A NEW TRASH FANDOM SHUT UP.

This right here was false advertising.

Recruitment under false premises is what it was. Lena had passed the Overwatch physicals once _already_ , thanks much, and Winston’s whole getting-the-band-back-together shtick hadn’t mentioned putting her through _rookie training_ again. It wasn’t like she’d been sitting on her arse this whole time, was it? She’d—there’d been—action! Physical exercise! Couple of shootouts on the roof! She was in practice!

And she could do a bloody chin-up just fine, thanks.

“Fifteen,” she muttered, and was immediately poked hard between the shoulder blades.

“ _Fourteen_. That one, you didn’t finish.”

She threw an indignant look as far back over her shoulder as she could manage. “What? I did too!”

Zarya crossed her arms and smirked. “Fourteen. You’re getting there.”

Muttering vague threats to the effect of showing _you_ where I’m getting, the hell out of _here_ , that’s what, Tracer pulled herself up again, feet flailing slightly. “ _Fifteen_. Happy?”

The level of enjoyment in Zarya’s answering chuckle made her muscles start aching preemptively.

“That’s good enough for this time. Now, drop and give me twenty.”

“I hate you,” Tracer informed her, dangling from her pole. “You’re sweet an’ all, but I hate you a lot right now.”

There was another rich laugh from behind her, followed by the sound of Zarya’s massive hands clapping together. “Less talking, more push-ups. The sooner you finish, the sooner I let you leave.”

Wasn’t kidding, either. She’d got Athena locking the doors and all.

Speak of the devil. Tracer’d barely had the thought when there was a light tap on the door. It slid open a few seconds later—presumably, either Athena didn’t want to keep people out of the jury-rigged gym, or Zarya had the door controls on a remote.

There was a long-suffering sigh from across the room.

“Aleksandra,” Angela said delicately. “Do I _want_ to know why the door to the gym is barricaded from the outside?”

Tracer finally dropped down from the chin-up bar. “Hey, Mercy. Get me outta here?”

“Ah,” said Angela, the filthy traitor. “Say no more. I hope you’re being responsible? Overworking her too badly at first will do more harm than good. Though, ah, you would know that, of course.”

Ohoho. Mercy getting _flustered_ , never thought she’d live to see the day. _That’s a blush, that is_. _Get it, angel._

“We will build up to a proper workout,” the crazy Russian promised her. You know, honestly, Overwatch wasn’t _that_ great. Maybe the whole recall thing was just a brief fit of insanity. She could argue that with a good enough lawyer, right? “What can help—you needed?” She shook her head sharply and ran fingers through hair that could almost match her face now, and Tracer wasn’t nearly so out of breath that she wasn’t gonna laugh at that.

“English, love,” she said lightly. “Try again, you’ll get the hang of it.”

“ _You. Push-ups._ ”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it, be a crying shame if anyone got five minutes to catch their breath around ‘ere, wouldn’t it…”

Zarya just raised an eyebrow as Tracer grumbled her way to the floor. “Angela,” she said pointedly. “What can I do for you?”

“Only looking for company at the moment,” came the answer. Lord, what Lena Oxton wouldn’t give to be able to see the look on these girls’ faces instead of the floor. They must be a work of art.

“Could give you kids some privacy, if you like?” she chirped hopefully. Her answer, as she tried to do another sketchy, shallow push-up, was a heavy foot just below her harness pack that pushed her further down into the proper position. It worked for about half a second, before Tracer’s arms gave out and she fell on her face with Zarya stepping on her like a hunting trophy or something.

Normally it was the _bear_ who was the trophy, she thought uncharitably. “Y’know, I’ve been out fightin’ the good fight all this time. I’m more in shape than Winston, why don’tcha ever pick on ‘im?”

Knuckles cracked darkly over her head. “Don’t get me _started_ on Winston. But this is about you. Twenty-five now.” Oh, Zarya was enjoying this, and Tracer would have her revenge once she could get up. “And start over. Do them _right_.”

Angela’s laugh as the foot was removed from Tracer’s back was depressingly unsympathetic. “Oh, that’s cruel.”

“If she did them right the first time and kept her mouth shut, she wouldn’t have to start over. _I don’t hear counting!_ ”

Tracer ran through a selection of smart remarks. She then chose the better part of valor, groaned loudly, pushed herself up, and grumbled, “ _One_.”

“Better.”

“Slave driver’s what you are. Two.”

Zarya gave a low grunt of acceptance and turned to talk to Mercy. “How is Pharah?”

A sigh. “Fareeha is doing well. I expect she’ll be back in the air within a week, giving the spectre of the Overwatch property-damage claims department nightmares.”

Any other day, Zarya’s rich, earnest laughter would be contagious. Tracer was in survival mode, so she took it as a sign that her captor’s guard was down. And oh, look. Someone had gotten so distracted by the cute doctor that they’d forgotten to lock the door again.

“She’s a good soldier,” Zarya said affectionately. “You can’t fault her courage.”

“Of course not,” Angela said, sounding melancholy again. Watching their feet from the corner of her eye, Tracer had to grin a bit as she watched Zarya shift to lean against a heavybag and give Angela an arm to fold herself into. Made sense, those two, Tracer always said so. Mercy didn’t usually go for the brawny types, but they were both sweethearts at the end of the day and Zarya’d always choose to protect people over fighting the enemy directly, if she had to. Lots in common.

Like sadism toward innocent Brits who just wanted to get some sleep.

“Nine…” Just as an experiment, Tracer pushed herself up again and stayed there, darting a glance up. Zarya wasn’t even looking at her anymore; she’d offered Angela her free hand and the doctor’d taken it, which must be stupid cute, and while normally Tracer’d try not to eavesdrop on a Moment, well, desperate times and all.

Zarya was saying something in that soft, rough Russian rumble about finding a better way, and helping and protecting. Standard stuff, nice catch Mercy, et cetera. Cautiously, Tracer eyed the distance to the door and braced one foot, getting ready to make her break. “Ten…”

Ha-HA. Flash of blue and the taste of light, that exhilarating slipstream that’d terrify her if she thought about it too long instead of losing herself to the joy of the rush, and she was on her way to _freedom!_

“AUGH—what the— _hey!_ ”

Or, well, she woulda been, if someone hadn’t casually grabbed hold of her bloody collar right when she was about to blink. Tracer only had a moment to be indignant before she was lifted off the ground with a yelp.

“ _Lemme go!_ ”

Zarya didn’t even look over at her. Tracer was pretty damn sure she hadn’t even broken stride talking to Angela.

“You work too hard,” she was saying as an unconcerned Angela leaned against her shoulder, stroking a lock of golden hair with the hand not holding Tracer in the air by the scruff of her neck like an angry kitten. “I learned this in the defense corps before I ever joined Overwatch—when things are darkest is when it’s most important that defenders take time to recharge, whenever they can find it.”

“Oi,” said Tracer. “Touching, and all, but I’m still—guys?”

Angela gave a mirthless laugh. “I know. The struggle is in finding that chance. With Talon so active again it may be a very long time, I’m afraid. But, we do what we must.”

“ _Hey!_ ” Tracer tried again. “Winston! _I’m being held against my will!_ ” She tugged ineffectually on the fingers clamped around her collar before giving up. “Mercy, c’mon, love. Make ‘er— _get off!_ ”

Zarya grinned, still ignoring her captive. “Well,” she said. “I was going to suggest dinner first.”

Tracer mimed retching. Both of them continued to ignore her.

Mercy looked surprised; Zarya gave an expansive shrug. “You need rest,” she said. “I like food. Seems a good solution. Doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”

“Still ‘ere.”

“I would like that.” Tracer was too irritated to tease Angela about the schoolgirl blush. Petulantly, she tried to blink again and succeeded only in jerking Zarya’s arm forward by about half a meter.

Zarya gave her a light shake by the collar, which meant Tracer nearly got whiplash.

“Stop zat,” she said absently. Then, “What time?”

“Oh, I don’t...it depends, really, I don’t know how much pain she might be in when she wakes up…”

“Eight,” Zarya said firmly. “If you can’t leave, I will bring something back for you.”

“That’s great. Honestly is. Can I—” Tracer yelped again as she was unceremoniously dropped, stumbled backward, and would have tripped on the mat and gotten a bruised tailbone on top of everything else if she hadn’t hit the rewind at the last second. Wasn’t real big on dignity, but it was better.

Honestly, it’d have been smarter to just hit the gas and get the hell out of Dodge, but, well, Tracer’d never made her living on smart and skidded to a stop once she’d blinked safely out of arm’s reach.

“‘ave fun with the cardio, loves,” she tossed over her shoulder with a carefree salute.  
  
_Then_ she ran for it.


End file.
